Tomorrow's Solace
by Eliza-Lou-Riley
Summary: After the abduction of their infant son, Harry's previously cordial lifestyle begins to spiral out of control. His routine is disorganised. His friends are overbearing. Draco is wandering about like a ghost. And with their wedding only months away, will tragedy be able to bind them together in the end? Warning: modern/non-magic!AU, attempted suicide and submissive!Draco.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, so this is my first ever Drarry fic, so please forgive me if it's absolutely atrocious. It's set in Modern!AU, meaning it's a non-magic fic and Hogwarts does not exist in this AU. If that's not to your taste, please read no further. Characters who died in the books will still be present for this story i.e Fred Weasley etc. **

**This fic also contains disturbing elements such as self harm and attempted suicide, as well as having a very emotional and angsty storyline. Again, if these sort of themes disturb you, please do not read any further. **

**I hope you enjoy :) **

* * *

**Dear Sirius,**

_Forgive me for taking so long to reply to your previous letter. I have been meaning to for a long while now but it seems that every time I'm ready to settle down and write to you there's always something nearby to distract me. Whether it's with work or the house or the damn bird being a pain, there always seems to be something to delay my reply even further._

_First of all, how are you? I hope the new flat is keeping well and you're adjusting yourself alright. I can understand how hard it must be to settle down into real life when you've been stuck in the routine of prison for twelve years. I just hope we can brush things under the carpet now you're out, start afresh. I need all the company I can get, especially after what has happened. _

_I can't afford to lose anyone else, Sirius, it would drive me off the edge. I'm eager to meet with you, as I hope you wish to meet with me but seeing as the chances of us meeting are rather slim at the moment, what with the authorities still watching you closely, I may as well tell you everything in this letter and hope I explain myself clearly enough._

_I don't know where to start, Sirius. Everything seems to have happened far too quickly. I have no idea who I am anymore. It's strange; like I've forgotten myself, I've forgotten my place. Though I suppose that's only natural, as Hermione says; it's all part of the stages of grieving, to forget oneself. I have no idea how to use my time except to work relentlessly and take long evening walks in the rain. They say it's normal behaviour but I don't want it to be. I don't want to be like this anymore._

_You expressed some interest into how Draco was coping in your previous letter. Thank you for your concern and I wish I could say he is coping stably in this current situation, as stable as I am myself at least. But that would be dishonest; the truth is things are bad, Sirius and it seems only set to get worse. It's like living with a ghost. He won't eat, he won't talk to anyone, he never comes to bed at night; not to mention he's in and out of the hospital constantly because he has no respect or value for his own body anymore. _

_It's too much Sirius, especially with the wedding only six months away. I'm in the right mind to postpone it – or call it off altogether. But I suppose there's still that selfish creature living within me that falsely hopes that things may change before then. I love him, Sirius; I love him and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with him. But how can I? How can I possibly now, after everything? I want to marry Draco, the real Draco, not the stranger that now floats around my house hardly recognising me anymore._

_I suppose it is best I don't say anything else, in case your mail is being tracked as well as your whereabouts. But please, don't apologise for not being present at the memorial service. I can fully understand why you're not ready to show your face in public just yet._

_Thank you for the flowers._

**With love from Harry**


	2. Chapter 2

His mind told him that it wasn't morning yet.

He was becoming accustomed to waking up with stiff limbs. He just couldn't seem to fall asleep in a position that didn't result in him waking up in excruciating pain every other morning, apart from those nights where he didn't sleep at all. The darkness of the room made it seem smaller, more oppressive and he caught sight of the time as his fingers brushed the circular spectacles placed carefully on the bedside table in their usual place, ready to give him sight for the upcoming day.

**05:37**

At least three hours sleep. Well, as Ron always said; slow progress was better than no progress.

He remained curled there a moment, sunken into the mattress, wondering if there really was any need to turn over just to check in case Draco had changed his mind and decided to come to bed the previous night. Harry had waited up for him per usual, though there was little point but in the end had fallen into a restless slumber without the presence of his lover by his side, his own thoughts and tribulations the only thing left to comfort him.

He wondered if Draco was still in the house or whether he would find him at the end of the garden again attempting to fix that ancient bird box Narcissa had bought them years back. Either way, there was little chance of earning an explanation as to why Draco was absent from their bed for the fifth night running.

Harry sighed and pulled himself out from the soft thaw of the bedsheets he had been entangled in, fumbling his way over to the vanity table in the corner in search of something to comb his hair with, as his own fingernails were proving to be an ineffective substitute to a decent hairbrush. He knew Draco had one tucked away somewhere; dark green, coarse in texture and strictly labelled "**hands off Potter**" in small bold letters on the handle. That small family heirloom that still held a few single strands of snow blond hair on its teeth, though few remained now that tending to his own appearance no longer held any sort of purpose to Draco Malfoy.

Harry heard movement from downstairs and decided that Draco was in fact in the house. The kitchen to be precise, if the scraping of plates was anything to go by. He tarried a moment to open the bedroom curtains, squinting in an attempt to ward off the filtered sunlight that suddenly flooded into the dimly lit room and when he had wiped the exhausted tears from his eyes he carefully treaded out onto the landing and down towards the staircase.

The kitchen lights were off but had they even been on they would have offered little in the sullen darkness of the morning. Even the weather wasn't on their side.

Draco was over at the sink and Harry didn't have the heart to remind him that the plates he was furiously scrubbing at had already been cleaned the previous night and there really was no need to go over them again, considering the paint was now starting to wear thin on them. Draco had noted his presence, because he stopped scrubbing a moment and his head turned silently to the side as if he considered looking over his shoulder.

He couldn't quite manage it.

'It's a nice morning,' was all Harry could think of to say. Rather a stupid comment now that he thought about it; there was nothing nice about it at all. The sky was clouded over, casting the world in a grey, rancid atmosphere with the sun yet to show its face. The air smelt of rain.

'It is,' Draco replied huskily, his voice dry as paper, returning to the plates, 'it's nice…a nice morning…'

The pause that followed endured horribly and Harry slowly reached behind him to rake his scalp with his fingertips, 'I, uh…has Hedwig had her breakfast?'

Draco's head craned to the side again but never fully turned in Harry's direction, as if there was something in his lover's eyes that he really didn't want to see, 'yes, I put it out for her. She's still out flying.'

Harry reclined towards the kitchen counter where he spent the next few moments playing with an orange he found in the fruit bowl that had been placed in the centre, while Draco finished with the plates and began determinedly rubbing the already sparkling wine glasses that had been stationed in a row on the window ledge.

Harry suddenly found himself very drawn to his hands; the way they scurried about indifferently, snatching up each piece of crystal ware with graceful ease and pressing them mercilessly against the sodden cleaning cloth, scrubbing with no apparent reason until the entire kitchen was filled with the shrill falsetto of fabric meeting glass. Those beautiful hands that Harry once kissed, now marred by endless hours of knuckle biting.

'I, um…' Harry began, transferring the orange from one hand to the other, rolling it around in his palm for a while and then distributing it back into the bowl on the counter, '…perhaps we should go back to bed…I have an hour or so before work and-'

The fingers that scrubbed the glass halted with a sickening jerk and moved in slow motion to gently place it back among the others. Draco's lips quivered and he began to wring the cloth in his hands, twisting and twisting as if it was someone's neck, listening to the water clunk into the drain below. Harry realised he had overstepped the line and his tongue retreated back behind his teeth.

'Sorry…' he mumbled and then cut off again, embarrassed, 'I, uh, I'll just…'

Draco was ignoring him; his hands found a new glass and the squeaking continued as he returned to his previous action of relentless scrubbing. It was pointless trying to create further conversation. After all, not much could be said to someone who had forgotten they were alive.

Harry wondered off for a while, biding his time by visiting Hedwig in her shed at the end of the garden. They had never intended on ever having any pets – Draco had a soft spot for cats but had always been reluctant to have one in the house because of the furniture and even Sirius' large black dog was always on constant surveillance on the rare visits his cousin paid – but Harry had insisted they take the bird in as their own after he found her injured on their front lawn a few years back. No one had ever stepped forward to reclaim her, so Draco had begrudgingly allowed her to stay in the shed so long as she kept her talons to herself.

There was food left on her perch as Draco had promised and the snow-white owl had already swooped in through the open window by the time Harry had walked in, the remains of a dead mouse still present in her feathers. She poked around the bird feed left out for her, swallowing a few raisins that Draco left as a treat before settling herself down to snooze after a long night's hunt.

'Look after him today, won't you?' Harry murmured to the bird, reaching out to gently caress one of her wings before she drifted off, 'I know he doesn't like you flying in the house but…just keep an eye out. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.'

He sometimes wondered if he was going mad, assuming the owl could understand him. But it was a greater comfort imagining that she could prevent Draco from doing himself harm than facing the reality that he was leaving him to his own devices for another day and had no idea what he would come home to. But Hedwig chirped in reply, though perhaps she only wanted him to sod off so she could get some much needed shut-eye. He smiled, tickled her behind the neck and turned back out of the shed down towards the house.

He busied himself getting ready, fishing out that usual stark white shirt, those loose black trousers, though he was in no mood for working at a computer all day at all. He was never in the mood but that wasn't the point; it was better than being at home, wallowing in his own self pity, wasting away into nothing. It was better to make something of himself, even if it was slowly eating away at him, grinding him down until he felt he would snap. Work kept his mind off things, kept the money rolling in. Someone had to do it.

He met Draco on the stairs, pale as death and holding his black work tie in both hands, stroking it as if it were a cat. Harry smiled, reached out to accept it and their hands met briefly, the contact causing Draco to shiver and he glared tragically into Harry's eyes, quickly withdrawing both hands before they dared touch again.

'Thank you,' Harry mumbled, his voice a clumsy whisper and he hesitated a moment, in case Draco intended on doing his tie up for him, the way he always used to. But the elegant figure never moved again; just stared at him, on the borderline of fear and awe and Harry dismissed himself once again to battle with his tie alone before those mournful eyes sent him into a relapse.

There was no harm leaving early. It gave him time to take the long way to the office; to pass through the park, clear his head a little. That or he could drive and spend a few minutes crying by himself on the steering wheel in the car park, just releasing all the stress that he had kept bottled up to make the day a little more bearable.

No, bad idea. Someone was bound to notice; Seamus, Neville, someone who was attentive enough to take note of his red rimmed eyes and sunken features. They wouldn't say anything to him; they would spill everything out to their boss, insist he wasn't ready to come back to work yet, insist that he be sent home before he ended up stapling his own fingers together.

Walking was a better idea. He had time to kill.

Draco had moved to the living room and was sitting stiffly at the edge of one of the chairs, hands on his lap. He seemed aware that Harry was behind him but not a bone in his body reacted to the other male who walked with agonisingly slow footsteps to where he sat, placing two slightly trembling hands on the furnished wood.

'I'll be home by six,' Harry said shortly, though he knew he was merely repeating information that was already known.

Draco didn't respond, as if he didn't believe him and Harry wanted to sob; he leaned down and the tip of his nose traced an invisible line up the perfectly structured shoulder, towards the pale nape of his lover's neck where he gently lay a kiss to rest on the crawling skin.

'I love you,' he whispered frantically into Draco's white ear, 'so much…'

His response was a nod; an excruciatingly slow rise and dip of the head and he figured he was lucky to even receive that; he landed another tender kiss on the other man's jaw and hastily stepped away from him, muttering something about taking care of supper when he got home, though he knew his comments would only go flying right over Draco's head and dissolve into nothing.

It was all pointless; like talking to air.


	3. Chapter 3

He wondered why he had even bothered going to work.

It wasn't as if he was actually going to do anything aside from stare at a black computer screen for two hours before he realised he hadn't turned it on.

It was exhausting. Everyone danced around him like flies. As if he had been infected by a sickening pesticide that everyone was afraid to approach in case they too became sick with the lukewarm misery that had been bubbling in his soul and spewing out in mindless words and inept hand gestures.

Well, at least something had changed this morning. He had remembered to actually turn the computer on.

Staring at a blank document was a lot easier to get away with it seemed.

'Harry, I think you should take a break.'

He barely registered Longbottom's voice, though the flask of coffee that was suddenly shoved under his nose was harder to ignore and he blinked the salt water away from his eyes.

'No thanks,' he choked but the flask was set next to the keyboard anyway.

'I-I hear caffeine helps keep you alert. Does something to the chemicals in your brain or another…increases mental ability and stuff like that...'

Poor sweet Neville. Who only wanted to be a help but always ended up being a tedious inconvenience.

Harry waved the cup away with one hand, 'no thanks. I…I don't feel well.'

Not the best thing he could have said really.

'Are you alright?' alarm rose in Neville's tone and his conduct gradually resembled something similar to a startled rabbit, as if Harry had been doused in petrol with a flame lingering dangerously near, 'I-I can call Mr Slughorn if you want me to! Or Seamus, or the medic or…or someone else!'

Harry shook his head determinedly, his trembling hand reaching out to clasp around the coffee flask and press it against his parched lips. The scent wasn't what it used to be, nor was the taste; coffee had always been a weakness of his, bitter but with an inviting warmth that always relaxed him, made him feel at home. Draco was more partial towards tea but even he couldn't get enough of iced vanilla lattes whenever they were on one of their excursions to the local bistros. It was sweet seeing those grey eyes light up even at the mention of the drink; like watching a child on Christmas day. After all, it was what they had ordered on their first date, their first established outing as a couple.

It wasn't the same anymore. The nostalgia made him sick.

'Thank you,' he flashed a wet smile in his colleague's direction, pushing the flask as far across the desk as possible, 'that was great.'

Neville was an inelegant fellow if ever Harry had met one, but he wasn't an idiot.

'Was it too hot?' he asked worriedly, gazing at the blood that had suddenly flooded into Harry's face, bathing the usually fair skin in a stark salmon pink, 'oh Christ, I should have put more milk in!'

Harry was barely listening. There was a heat building up in his chest that drove all the sweat in his body to drip out of his skin and suddenly breathing was difficult. Saliva filled his mouth.

'Do you still feel sick?' Neville's hands balled into fists under his chin, 'this probably made it worse, I'm so sorry!'

'Neville, please, just-'

'Nausea is sometimes caused by traumatic stress as well,' Neville babbled, failing to realise his bungling assumptions were probably only making things worse for them both, 'I've heard about it! I mean, it's understandable with what you've been through; stress is a normal part of grieving, it's healthy!'

Harry was at his wits end. A lump formed in his throat the size of a tennis ball.

'Oh God, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have…I never meant…Harry-'

His voice faded into the hullabaloo of the workplace as Harry bolted for the door and narrowly avoided soiling Cedric Diggory's new black leather derbys as he effortlessly threw up all over the marble floor.

* * *

He had to hand it to Seamus in regards to hospitality. Few have the time or the patience to be on standby to keep your hair out of your eyes for you while you heave up your guts into a lavatory pan.

He was ordered to remain in the medical office for the rest of the day but only because he refused to go home. He sulked like a boy about the matter, slouching across the table top with his face buried in his arms while everyone moved about behind him, their voices bouncing over his head like empty bullets.

Nobody would give over. Everyone wanted to help. That was the problem; there was no way they possibly _could_ help.

Come the end of his shift, he was exhausted and he wanted nothing more than to go home. Even if Draco didn't notice he was there, he just wanted to be home.

'Harry!'

He cringed at the voice behind him and paused in the hallway as Cedric Diggory came jogging into view, coming to a halt so there was little distance left between them and Harry was forced to crane his neck back to stare up into the grey eyes above.

'Hello Cedric,' he said in a voice the size of a speck of dust, 'listen, about earlier-'

'It's fine Harry,' Cedric purred, glancing down at his feet that had managed to avoid being christened by the contents of Harry's breakfast that morning, 'they're still intact. So…how are you?'

His response was a brief shrug, 'as good as I can be, I suppose…'

Cedric gave a half-hearted nod, a signal that Harry needn't elaborate on that subject. He glanced over his shoulder in case of eavesdroppers and dropped his voice to a lower level, 'listen, I…I know this is none of my business but…I've been worried about you, Harry.'

'Yeah, a lot of people have.'

He could tell Cedric was embarrassed. He shifted warily on his feet, continuously glancing around in case they were being watched. Obviously he was taking a great risk in what he was about to say.

'I know you're sick of hearing it but…I think you should accept the bereavement leave that Slughorn offered you.'

He should have known that Slughorn would set Diggory of all people on him. Everything happened behind his back now, because no one had the stomach to say anything upfront. And Slughorn already knew that Cedric had always someone Harry thought very fondly of. Everyone knew it; they had the sort of friendship that possessed a sweet fraternal affection in its depths, the sort Harry had lacked sorely growing up, save for his relationship with Ron.

Cedric was the sort who understood without shoving it in your face but he was also well grounded. He was more sentimental than Dean, yet he didn't pick apart his words like Neville. He was a realist; a soft-spoken realist. To Harry, he was something along the lines of a blissful reality.

But Cedric's suggestion began to grate on his mind; it would be a lie to say that Harry hadn't ever considered if it really was a more logical idea to accept the bereavement leave that had been offered to him on so many occasions. It wasn't for the money – they had plenty of that already – more of an opportunity to give himself a break, get his head around everything. Think of _himself_ for a change.

'You know why I can't Cedric…' he mumbled, peering up through his eyelashes, 'it would mean…it would mean that he's really gone. You know?'

Diggory's smile was thin and awkward, 'still nothing from the police then?'

'They've scowered the park. Knocked on the door of every registered child sex offender in the area. Got their dogs to sniff out all the local drug dens. Cleared the alleys. Searched the rivers...nothing. Not one phone call.'

'They would call you if they had found anything-'

'They _must_ have found something by now,' Harry half snapped, 'it's been a year for Christ's sake-!'

'I understand. You still have hope.'

Harry went silent and for a moment, he didn't feel he believed Diggory. Hope didn't seem the right way to describe it. But what else could be getting him out of bed in the morning? It certainly wasn't the thought of the day ahead.

'It's what's keeping me alive at the moment. Well, that and Draco of course.'

'How_ is_ Draco?'

Another shrug, 'as well as you could expect…'

'So the therapy isn't working?'

'Well he's talking to me, if that can count as progress,' Harry found his voice became a growl that a lion would be proud of and his hands flailed wildly as he allowed his temper to get the better of him, 'mind you, he still doesn't say much. Just keeps trying to fix that goddamn bird box as if it will magically bring our son back; as if it'll solve all our problems and everything will go back to normal! Nothing's normal anymore, nothing is-!'

He cut off immediately when those words left his lips, ducking his head a moment with false hope that Cedric hadn't heard them. His glasses slid off his nose and clattered to the floor, remarkably not shattering against the hard surface. A hot stinging sensation had suddenly arisen in his eyes and before he could say anything else to alienate himself further Cedric had already steered him into an empty meeting room nearby and secured them inside, discarding Harry's glasses onto a table nearby.

'Jesus…' this almost silent exclamation was followed by a large, wet sob and Harry found himself enveloped in the security of Cedric's arms, burying his nose into the depths of his work shirt as he soaked it with a few of his tears for good measure.

He was held there until he had his breathing under control and he realised how much he had missed the crave of human touch; those beautiful moments when he and Draco would lie together, tangled by the hearth with the warmth and comfort of each other's skin as they talked about their dreams. He missed it all - those soft hands that weaved through his forest of hair; those lips that traced invisible trails along his quaking arm, every kiss and caress tainted with the soundless words, '_I love you_.'

It was pointless wishing, he knew.

Cedric gave him time to pull himself together and when the smaller man had managed to compose himself, carefully created a distance between them once more so he could look him in the eye.

'Harry,' he said in his usual husk purr, his thumb and forefinger finding Harry's chin so he could carefully tilt his head upwards to meet his gaze, 'you can't keep this up. This isn't helping you being here. You and Draco need each other right now, you know that.'

Harry glared up at him, eyes like empty mirrors.

'I know it's hard but you're only stressing yourself out by being here. You think it's distracting you but it's not; it's only putting more weight on your shoulders. You know that don't you?'

A stiff nod.

'Do you promise you'll take some time off and look after yourself as well as Draco?'

Another nod, even stiffer.

'Good man,' another perfect smile stretched across Diggory's lips and he brushed a kiss against that slightly flustered forehead, 'you get yourself home and leave Slughorn to me. You need to rest. And if there's anything you need, even if it's just someone to talk to, you know I'm only a phone call away, alright?'

Protesting would have been pointless. So Harry complied.

'Thanks Cedric…' he mumbled, trying to keep his tone gracious, 'thank you…for everything you've done.'

'That's what friends are for Harry,' Cedric reclaimed the round glasses from the table and slid them neatly back into the bridge of Harry's nose, 'they look out for each other. Even when the other person doesn't want it.'


	4. Chapter 4

He found Draco in the sitting room when he arrived home, hunched up at the end of their settee with a picture frame balanced on his lap. That same old picture frame that he had been advised not to dwell on too much for the sake of his own nerves.

Not that he ever listened to his therapist.

Not that he ever listened to _anyone _anymore.

Harry threw off his jacket and cautiously drew himself towards the sofa, sidling up close to his lover until his chin rested against his shoulder.

No reaction.

Not a shudder or a flinch. Draco's focus remained solely on the picture in hand; his fingers stroked the outline of the silver frame, tracing an invisible line over each face in the photo taken; Harry's, his own and the infant that sat between them, with a smile that could light up the darkest dwellings in any corner of the earth.

Harry blew out a large gust of air, 'You shouldn't be looking at that.'

Draco's finger never left the child's face. It remained there, gently stroking the smiling face as if trying to wipe it away into a smear.

Harry's arm extended, touching the silver, 'Draco-'

'Don't touch him!' Draco suddenly barked, tearing the frame away violently, 'you have no right to-!'

He cut off as if a knife had sliced through his words and his eyes became large and glassy as he caught sight of Harry's expression.

'I didn't…I mean…' his bottom lip trembled and he hugged the frame close to him, 'it's my fault…'

'_No_,' Harry replied immediately and he wound his arms around Draco's shoulders, pressing a cheek against the nape of his neck, 'it was never your fault Draco, never. Please, you must stop blaming yourself. You'll make yourself sick.'

Draco was like a rock in his arms and the hands that held the frame shook. He shut his eyes, his lips curled inwards as the picture was removed from his grasp, rested safely on the nearby coffee table as Harry gathered him in his arms and began to soothe him, whispering sweet nothings into the ear that was suddenly flushed pink.

'Sssh, it's not your fault,' he said in the tenderest whisper, his breath hot against Draco's skin, 'it's never, _ever_ your fault...'

Draco muttered something but he barely heard him. Merely rocked him back and forth to ease the flow of both their tears until Draco's sobbing dissolved into nothing and he pressed his wet face into the thin texture of Harry's shirt. It had been so long since they had done this. So bloody long. Yet it still felt distant; they were lying there in each other's arms but it felt like they were worlds apart.

'I've taken leave off work.'

He felt Draco shift, 'for how long?'

'I don't know. As long as I need, I guess.'

Draco's breath hitched but he didn't speak again. He slid neatly out of Harry's hold and drifted towards the kitchen again, their moment of rare intimacy abruptly over.

'Dray?'

His lover halted at the doorway, listening but refusing to acknowledge. Already he had fallen back into a world where Harry didn't exist.

Harry's tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, circled his upper gums and then flopped back into neutral.

'I love you.'

Silence and for a hopeless moment Harry had a dire sense of optimism that he might receive a response. But Draco forwarded into the kitchen and returned to his spot by the sink; the sound of running water soon poured out into the living room and Harry tried to tame the deflating disappointment that sank into his gut.

There was little point to keep pressing in hope of an answer; Draco was never going to say it back. No matter what anyone said about time being healer, about patience being a virtue, he was never going to say it back. After all, how can you tell someone you love them if you don't even know who they are anymore?

Harry lifted the silver frame from the coffee table and his eyes fixated on the smiling child in the photo. Those large, glowing cheeks; dark, serious eyes and those beautiful wisps of golden brown hair that curled below his ears like a head of sunlight. All of a sudden, it felt so real. As if he could just reach in and touch him. Bring him back.

He tore his eyes away and placed the frame back on the mantelpiece where it belonged, before he succeeded in depressing himself even further.


	5. Chapter 5

'Have the police been updating you on their progress?'

Harry's eyes diverted towards Draco on the chair beside him but if he thought the blond was going to be answering any questions willingly, he was sorely mistaken. He answered for them both with a stiff nod of the head, trying to ignore the impatience that bubbled in his gut at the sound of a pen irritatingly scratching against paper.

'And has there _been_ any progress in their search?'

'Don't you read the news?' Draco muttered under his breath.

Harry hissed, 'Draco-'

'-because if you did, you might have known that they've searched the entire bloody town and found absolutely nothing.'

Harry moved to apologise but it was evident that their therapist was by now used to this sort of hostility from his fiancé. Luna Lovegood was experienced with couples dealing with traumatic ordeals. She had first been introduced to Harry through Molly Weasley – granted her techniques were strange and her personality stranger but she got the job done; there was an eerie calmness about her that put Harry at ease. More at ease than he had ever been with anyone for a while.

He knew Draco didn't like her; mostly because of the insane serenity she managed to maintain despite the constant morbid atmosphere that always consumed the room each session they had. She was like a little cloud; a cloud that floated around in her own care-free world, scarcely aware of what was going on outside. Harry could understand why she liked to help others with their problems; she seemed to have very little of her own.

She smiled at Draco, her silent tranquillity making his skin crawl, 'I do read the news. But the news doesn't tell you everything. They only tell you what they want you to hear. '

Draco folded his arms and refused to say anymore.

'They've recently finished searching the lake,' Harry pressed on, 'and there was no evidence that Laurie had been anywhere near there. And then their dogs picked up something in a warehouse two miles from here…'

Luna nodded, 'I hear they arrested a suspect.'

'He was released due to insufficient evidence,' Harry muttered, 'Draco wasn't able to identify him in the line-up. Ridiculous really. I mean, it all happened so fast, I don't understand how he would possibly be able to remember what they looked like.'

Draco was cold again.

'It's completely understandable,' Luna resumed, her voice like honey, 'it's nothing to be ashamed of.'

'I keep telling him,' Harry persisted, glancing at Draco in hope he would speak up again, 'it's nobody's fault, it just happened. There's nothing he could have done.'

No word from his lover. Luna watched him with her placid silver eyes and her soft lips stretched wider, into a smile that could have made the entire room sparkle.

'Perhaps we should go through this again,' she said, her eyes burrowing into Draco's own with intimidating kindness, 'go over what happened, every detail.'

Draco stared back with rigid aggravation and Harry knew that, had he been his normal self, he would have loved nothing better than to leap over and slowly wring her neck with his bare hands.

He didn't, thank God for small mercies.

'Is there really any point?' he replied instead, his voice hollow.

'It's important to recollect what happened the day your son was taken,' Luna glanced briefly at Harry, 'the more you try to ignore it, the more stress you mount on yourself. You need to acknowledge what happened; go over it until you know it by heart. It's only then that you'll be able to stop blaming yourself, learn to love yourself again.'

Draco's lips twitched thoughtfully and his eyes swiveled down to look at his lap, glaring at the speck of dust on his knee, flicking it away and then depositing his gaze back up through his lashes to where Luna sat. She gazed back with that everlasting dreamy turn of the lips.

'Would you prefer to sit here or on the lounger?'

Draco chose the lounger in the end, though he did so without uttering a syllable. There was no use talking to him; he was as stubborn as a mule and Harry knew it. But he was also aware that Luna had the patience of a saint; she was their last resort if he ever wanted to wake up to those familiar grey eyes watching opposite him ever again.

Draco started the normal routine of lying himself across the lounger, flinching as Luna pulled her chair over and turned a fresh page over in her clipboard. Harry usually left the room when this part of the session took place but this time Luna beckoned him over with a brief flick of her hand, the gold bangles on her wrist making a jaunty tune.

'Sit with him Harry,' she purred, directing him to sit on the edge of the lounger, close to Draco's head, 'let him know you're here for him.'

It wouldn't have mattered if a herd of wild buffalo had stormed through the walls; Draco would hardly take notice of Harry's presence. He didn't speak, nor did he move when Harry's fingers curled into his hair, massaging his scalp in a soothing motion in hope of preventing any stress that was about to arise.

'Relax,' Luna virtually whispered to the blond, 'close your eyes. Start from the beginning. What month is it?'

The glare she earned could have set her skin alight. But Draco eventually gave over and closed his eyes, his delicate lids fluttering over those sunken grey pupils that had been drained of all colour. He breathed in – once through the nose and then out again through dry, chapped lips – and said to the ceiling, 'it's…it's July..'

He trailed off, shoulders tensing as Harry's hands continued to tangle in his locks.

Luna graciously assisted him, 'that's right. It's July and Harry's at work. What happens, Draco?'

Teeth scraped against increasingly parched lips, '…I do what I usually do. I clean the house…get the laundry sorted…I…I make sure Laurie gets his milk…'

A pause. He swallowed in an effort to moisten his throat that suddenly seemed as dry as a bone.

'How is Laurie behaving?' Luna asked softly, scanning her notes.

'…he's grizzling a bit. He doesn't want to eat. He's in a bad mood and I don't know why…'

Harry glanced at the therapist and her snow-blonde head nodded in satisfaction; Draco's memory seemed to be in one piece so far. Those fingers continued rubbing, moving to caress each side of Draco's neck.

'Keep going, Mr Malfoy.'

Another deep breath.

'I call Harry and ask him what to do. I think Laurie's sick; he's burning up, he won't take his milk, he keeps crying. I want to call a doctor. But Harry says…he says…'

'Keep him cool,' Harry murmured, his thumb gently running along Draco's jaw, 'keep him cool, give him plenty of water and if it gets worse, call Hermione. Hermione always-'

'-knows what to do…' Draco finished and for a moment Harry could have sworn he was considering an age old Malfoy smirk.

'Recite your conversation,' Luna flicked her biro thoughtfully, 'everything you said.'

'You remember, don't you Draco?' said Harry, 'I said to you – "keep him cool and make sure he gets plenty of water." You remember?'

'…yes. And I said his cot needed changing…'

'And I told you that the fresh sheets were in the linen cupboard, like they usually are-'

'-so I went to get them…' Draco was beginning to go frigid again, 'then I said…I said…'

'You told me to have a good day,' Harry felt a smile press his lips as his fingertip gently stroked that tender skin, the skin he sorely missed touching, 'you…you said you'd have dinner on the table when I got home. You said you loved me…very much…'

That same foreboding silence crept into the room. Draco's eyes remained closed but Harry definitely felt his body jerk at the words spoken, as if even the mention of those old familiar words were too much to comprehend.

'Keep going.'

Draco's voice proceeded, 'I put the phone down…'

'Where's Laurie?'

'He's in his chair.'

'What do you do?'

'I change him into his one piece that he wears for bed. It's cooler for him to wear that…' he paused a moment to breathe again, 'turn the TV on…teletubbies or whatever…put Laurie on the rug and give him a rusk…make sure he has plenty of water.'

'What else?'

'I…I start doing the ironing in the background. And…and the teletubbies finishes and something else comes on. Blues Clues, I think. Laurie loves that show…'

His breath hitched slightly and Harry sensed panic in his demeanour. He knew there would be little he could do to prevent what was about to occur. It always happened. Every time they went through the story that changed their lives for good.

Luna sensed it as well. Her hand moved in slow motion as she patiently continued with her notes, 'What happens now?'

'I don't want to…' Draco began but seemed to change his mind almost instantly, '…Laurie starts grizzling again. I know he isn't hungry. He doesn't need a change. So…so I put him in his cot for a bit, so he can sleep it off.'

'What do you say to him Draco?'

Harry was beginning to feel the early stages of convulsion coming from Draco's frame; he put both hands either side of his lover's face, thumbs gently stroking.

Draco coughs, 'I-I can't…'

'Breathe, Mr Malfoy,' Luna said with her infuriating sweetness, 'try and keep calm.'

But Draco seemed unable to do anything but quiver involuntarily and soon the actions became violent; so much so that Harry soon became convinced he had gone into cardiac arrest.

'I don't want to do this anymore Luna,' he called desperately to the woman sitting opposite them, 'please, he's not well. He's not ready to try this again, he needs more time.'

Luna nodded in understanding and set her clipboard down, 'comfort him, Harry. Let him know you're here. Do what you usually do.'

Harry craved for her composure – but then again, Luna was used to these fits from Draco. She knew how anxiety controlled the body and remaining calm was an important factor in assisting someone out of an attack. They had formulated a method of keeping Draco calm – Harry carefully laid the blond head on his lap and continued his previous method of rubbing his fingertips through that slightly sweat streaked hair, murmuring any sort of nonsense that may come as some sort of distraction to the boy below him.

'I'm here, Dray,' he whispered, doing his best to keep back the frightened tears that always found their way to his eyes, 'I'm here, it's okay. I'm not going to leave. I'm here and I love you very much...'

Draco couldn't hear him. He was convulsing with vigorous passion, his eyes squeezed shut as if he was in insufferable pain. A thin line of blood slowly trickled out of his nose, staining the entrance of his left nostril.

'Keep talking,' Luna quietly urged Harry, 'he needs to hear your voice.'

Harry's mouth went dry. His hands trembled horribly. He wracked his brains for anything to say, anything remotely comforting.

'Remember Blues Clues, Dray?' he choked, unintentionally scraping his nails against Draco's scalp in his haste, 'remember how long it took for me to clock that Blue was a girl? You laughed at me for weeks over that.'

He noticed that the shaking lessened slightly at this. Draco was listening. Which was a first.

'Remember? I was shocked. I had always been suspicious of her relationship with that pink dog. Who'd have thought she was a lesbian, eh?'

A little colour swam into Draco's face. Harry extracted his little finger and carefully wiped away the smear of red that had dripped towards his lip.

'I know how much you hate blood,' he sighed, sniffing loudly as Draco's shaking finally subsided and he seemed to drift off, his breathing becoming shallow, 'Jesus Dray, what am I going to do with you?'

His question was left unanswered. Draco was already asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

The afternoon held the promise of rain.

What with Draco's parents due for an unexpected visit, Harry had made an effort to tidy the house up a bit, though there was actually very little that needed to be cleaned. Draco had always been a perfectionist before but now he treated his home like a box of glass; he sat at the very edge of the furniture, brushed his shoulders against the walls, padded across the Persian rugs like a kitten. There was hardly a speck of dust anywhere left in his direction.

Harry had only recently realised that he had not seen or heard anything from Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy in the months following the memorial service for Laurie. When he asked Draco if they were still in good health, Draco made an unexpected and frankly curt remark that they were both dead. This, not surprisingly, was untrue. Draco's parents were in fact alive – or still in existence at least. Harry was informed of this via a letter sent by Narcissa announcing they would be visiting the following week and after informing Draco that his parents weren't dead, the blond sulkily replied that it was simply wishful thinking.

Harry couldn't understand this suddenly frosty attitude Draco suddenly had towards his parents. He ignored everyone else, treated them as if they were transparent, only snapping at them if they dared say a word in his direction. But with his parents it was constant; Harry couldn't even say their names without Draco's teeth grinding somewhere in the distance.

It didn't make any logical sense; they hadn't done anything wrong.

Well, they hadn't written in a long time but that was completely understandable. They grieved in their own fashion – by hiding themselves away from the world like Draco did himself.

But today they were coming for tea and Harry had pulled out all the stops to ensure this visit wouldn't result in another relapse from Draco. He made sure to keep the living room particularly empty, clearing away all the stray toys that Draco refused to part with and keeping all the family photos towards the back of the mantelpiece. He knew that Lucius would be alright but Narcissa was sensitive to any sight or scent that so much reminded her of Laurie and the last thing he wanted was his mother-in-law to be leaving their home in the back of an ambulance.

Draco had no participation in cleaning the house. In fact it took Harry nearly half the day to coax him out of his room; the stubborn brat refused to budge and when Harry made a grab for him he shuffled underneath his bed and stayed there for a good half an hour until Harry had been able to drag him out and get him over his shoulder where there was no escape. Turned out Draco still knew how to kick and cry like a bitch but once he had been plopped into an armchair he was restored to his completely mute self and wouldn't utter a squeak more.

He stayed there before and after the doorbell rang. And even after Harry had taken Narcissa's coat, found them both a seat and gone into the kitchen to prepare the tea in the pot, Draco was still in the same position with the same expression, barely hitching a single breath.

It was reasonable for Harry to be angry with him. But on Draco's behalf, his parents did very little to form any sort of conversation once they were seated. Narcissa planted herself at the very edge of the settee, hands clasped together on her lap while she did her best not to divert her eyes anywhere near the mantelpiece where those many photo frames stood in their crowning glory, taunting them all. She seemed to have aged about ten years since Harry had last seen her; her skin wasn't soft and ripe as it had been before. It was grey, dry, sunken with age; her eyes had lost their colour like Draco's had and now large dark sacks swelled on each cheekbone so she resembled something close to a sick panda.

She had made more of an effort than her husband in appearances; her hair was washed, her lips held the thinnest strip of red lipstick she could muster and Harry was certain he had brushed a kiss against a slightly powdered cheek when she first walked in.

So she was still all for fake airs and graces, Narcissa Malfoy – which was more than could be said for anyone else.

Harry couldn't remember the last time he had felt so morbidly embarrassed. He cringed everytime he heard the china clink together, as Narcissa repeatedly brought the steaming cup towards her lips, decided it was too hot to drink and set it down on its saucer again. Draco hadn't touched his cup, though it balanced on his knees dangerously. He was staring towards the patio doors, listening to the patient rhythm of the rain hammering above and wondering if he could throw himself through it without anyone noticing.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, Harry stood in a clumsy motion, ready to announce that he was going into the kitchen, when his shoulder collided with that same picture frame Draco was so obsessed with and he caught it with both his shaking hands before it could drop to the floor below. His face burned with the knowledge that he had everyone's attention, as they watched him brush off the photo, check it over for any damage and then settle it back onto the mantelpiece, free of any blemishes. Draco turned away from him as soon as their gazes met, his eyes misted and withdrawn as he looked out to the rain once more.

'This is lovely tea,' Narcissa commented, her mouth dry, 'what brand is it?'

'I'm not too sure.' Harry replied shortly.

The silence returned, eating away at them. Narcissa dove in again.

'I love what you've done with the walls,' she commented, seemingly forgetting that they had been redecorated over two years ago, 'the beige looks perfect with the sofa and the ornaments…and some other things…'

She recoiled at the lack of response and abandoned her teacup on the table nearby, glancing between her son and his fiancé as if they were dripping with tar. She turned to her husband, with pointless hope that he might have some input into the décor of the house or something else that could lighten the dull atmosphere that seemed to have permanently latched itself onto the household.

She was mad if she thought he would be of any help. Lucius Malfoy well and truly was a dead man on legs.

He wasn't even sitting; he had refused a chair and slunk in the corner like a scolded dog, a proverbial tail between his legs. Harry wondered if he should offer him tea but the man looked so sick it seemed a waste of time asking. He was whiter than Draco and his hair stuck to his face unnaturally, falling past his shoulders in large, messy clumps.

He didn't care anymore. He honestly didn't care.

'Have you bought a suit yet Draco?' Narcissa blurted out, the cup trembling clumsily in her hands once more as she took it up again.

'We can't decide on one,' Harry answered for him, which was a lie in itself. They hadn't even bothered shopping for the wedding anymore, which felt strange because a year ago it had been a daily part of their routine. He had faint recollections of Draco being up at the crack of dawn ready to drag him away into town and browse inside every shop that tailored suits until he was blue in the face. Laurie was always there with them, gurgling from his buggy while Draco spoiled him with designer baby grows and little boots that Harry always nagged weren't worth the money.

But Draco never wanted to do anything now. He stayed in the house, locked away from everything he once knew and loved, wanting to be forgotten by everyone.

'I think suits would be lovely,' Narcissa babbled on, 'you always liked wearing them. When you were little you would put your father's suits on and parade around the house in them,' she rasped out a laugh that was so parched it made Harry feel thirsty, 'isn't that right Lucius?'

Her husband was unresponsive. His attention had been caught by an old toy rabbit discarded on the table nearby and he was stroking it as if his life depended on it, over and over until it became an obsession.

Harry silently cursed himself for having overlooked that particular object during his tidy up of the house and wondered if there was any chance of him grabbing it and hiding it in the nearest vase possible before Draco noticed and went mad. But Lucius didn't seem willing to leave it any time soon and went on with his stroking until he could have worn a hole through the table.

'All he ever used to talk about was the wedding,' said Harry without meaning to and his gaze drifted towards Draco, suddenly glad he was in the room, 'but now he never talks about it at all. It's a shame really…a real shame…'

They sat there until the pot went cold and finally Narcissa managed to coax Draco into the kitchen to clean the cups up with her, though he did so in stony silence. Lucius disappeared for a while and Harry found him on the balcony overlooking the garden on the third floor, the tiny rabbit toy still clutched in one hand while he repeatedly stroked. Whether or not to approach the man played idly in Harry's mind.

He and Lucius had never really got on. Fair enough Lucius had been impressed that Draco had picked a boy who made headlines as his better half, but there was always this hostility that passed between them and Harry was never entirely sure why that was. Lucius had known his father – he knew that much – but according to Remus Lupin they didn't talk a lot, so there wasn't enough between them for there to be any love or hate. He had no reason to be resentful to the Potters. Yet he always trod on eggshells around Harry, as if he was deathly afraid of what he was going to do.

Harry had gracefully attempted to win over his future father-in-law in every way he saw possible. But nothing seemed to work. He always seemed to be doing something wrong.

'I know you're there Potter.'

Harry sighed and stepped out of the shadows, knowing there was little else he could do but step quietly over to the side of Lucius and do his best to keep his eyes on the garden below and not the shadow of the man standing next to him.

'How's the therapy going?' was all he could think of to say and Lucius immediately dropped his head so his hair covered his eyes.

'Not good,' he said quietly, 'yours?'

'Not good either.'

'I still can't understand why on earth you chose that Lovegood woman-'

'She's good at what she does,' Harry cut in, 'she's not like the others.'

'Five physiatrists in the space of one year and you're telling me she's no different from the others?'

Too tired to argue, Harry turned his attentions to the rabbit in Lucius' clenched fist, 'I, um…I was supposed to put that away…'

Lucius glanced down at his hand and a dusty pink hue patterned his cheeks for a moment, 'I liked the feel of it.'

'Just make sure Draco doesn't see it. He doesn't like…the toys, they…they make him remember.'

Lucius tucked the rabbit into his pocket without another word.

'I was planning on giving them to the Weasleys, the toys,' Harry scuffed the floor with his heel, 'what with Hermione's baby due in a few months. They'll put better use to them than we will.'

'But what if…?' Lucius began and then changed his course and said, 'what will Draco say?'

'I don't know,' replied Harry quietly, 'he doesn't like seeing them…but if he knows there gone it'll drive him crazy. Mind you, at least then we'll have something to talk about.'

They stood against the wall and not a word passed between them for a good few minutes, until Lucius reached into his pocket again and drew out a small box that Harry had become all too accustomed to seeing.

'I shouldn't…' he said as it was offered in his direction but he found himself reaching for a cigarette anyway, accepting the lighter that was flicked against the stub.

'Thank you.'

Smoking was a new habit of his; he had only started within the last six months and he wondered why he had never tried it before. It was expensive and damaging to his health but he found a release whenever he took that much needed gulp of polluted air that was ridden with addictive toxins that could very well be the death of him. He was unaware that Lucius had taken up the hobby as well; it seemed wrong for someone like him, so fixed on appearances and how he was perceived by others. Harry wondered if he even cared about himself anymore. If he even cared about anything. He was too much like Draco for his own good.

His hands came to Harry's attention again but this time because of the faint scarring on his wrists, turning white with age. The knowledge of where they came from made him shrink internally.

'Mr Malfoy…I took bereavement leave from work a few weeks ago…'

The taller man blew out a long puff of smoke, 'is that so?'

'I think you should do the same.'

Those lifeless grey orbs stared off into the greenery below and Lucius seemed silently tempted to throw himself off the balcony and allow his body to shatter against the stone patio below, similar to Draco with the window. He didn't.

'Do you honestly think I want to be at home facing my wife every day?' he asked almost humbly.

'She needs you.'

A scoff, thick and full of bitterness as Lucius stomped out his cig and let it drop onto the cold ground below, 'she doesn't need me.'

Harry took the plunge, stubbed out his cigarette onto the decking and reached over to clasp the man's cuff, 'Mr Malfoy, you're hurting yourself-'

'Please,' Lucius tore his arm away but not viciously; merely tugged it out of the boy's hold and pulled his cuff down safely over his damaged hand, 'please, just…don't touch me. Don't touch me…'

They were interrupted by a metallic shrill that sounded from downstairs and everything suddenly went cold and eerie. Lucius was stiff and his grey eyes diverted to Harry so expectantly that Harry was afraid he was going to break down and weep.

'Don't answer it,' the elder man pleaded, '…please, don't…'

Harry found himself shifting from one foot to another, unable to block out the telephone that summoned him from downstairs, that he knew Draco would never answer; because if they did it could end everything. It could end everything.

'I'm sorry,' he finally said to Lucius, already backing away, 'I have to.'

He scooted down the stairs immediately, to the telephone that was ringing off the hook and trembling hands clasped the receiver and brought it to his ear. He could feel the eyes of Narcissa burning into the back of his neck. And he knew that Draco, though his eyes remained staring at the wall, was listening intently, on the edge of his seat.

Lips quivering, Harry mumbled something short of a greeting into the phone and waited.

And waited.

And-

He set the phone down abruptly and said to the others, 'Telemarketer…'

Some of the colour returned to Narcissa's face at this false alarm. Draco said nothing but Harry could see him relax ever so slightly, his shoulders drooping so they were no longer tense. His heart pounding, Harry stumbled back up the stairs past Lucius who was halfway down and said something about being allowed to keep the toy rabbit, if he really wanted to.

They were safe again.

Until the next phone call that could end everything.


End file.
